A/N: So this here is my second official story and first in a Fete! Hope you enjoy it!

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"Loosen your elbow, and breathe," said Aramis as D'Artagnan took aim for what must have been the hundredth time. D'Artagnan was grateful for all the help offered by Aramis, Athos and Porthos, but he was annoyed that his improvement with a pistol was struggling compared to his advancement with a sword. It wasn't that Aramis was a poor teacher – and it wasn't that D'Artagnan was a poor shot. In fact, Aramis was a supportive instructor, and more patient than Athos was at times. The problem was that Aramis was so good! The gun seemed to be an extension of his arm and somehow he ALWAYS hit his target.

"Maybe you should give the pup a chance," teased Porthos. "Bring the targets closer!"

Aramis glared at the big musketeer. Turning back, he whispered to D'Artagnan, "Ignore him. When I first began working with Porthos, he nearly shot himself trying to load the thing. Just breathe, slowly, and pull the trigger."

D'Artagnan glanced at the marksman, who winked at him and gave him an encouraging smile.

D'Artagnan closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them, and stared down the sight of the barrel. He took a deep breath and pulled the trigger.

"At this rate we'd all be dead," said Athos wryly; Porthos burst out laughing; D'Artagnan dropped his head; Aramis glared now at both of his brothers who had been watching the target practice.

"Forgive me D'Artagnan," said Athos, under the stern but silent reproach from his brother. "Sometimes distraction is unavoidable in battle. Despite our…commentary, you were able to strike the target," he said indicating the new hole in the practice target. True, the impact was well off from the concentric blue and red circles he had been aiming for, but it DID make contact.

"Not a kill shot, tha's for sure, but ya definitely wounded 'im. Sometimes tha's just as good," said Porthos clapping a hand on the young man's back. "Cheer up, eh?"

"Yes," said Aramis. "I know it may not feel like it, but you ARE improving."

"In fact," he continued. "I think this could be a cause to celebrate, and I think Porthos and Athos have generously offered to treat tonight," he said, throwing an arm around the younger man and, tossing the other two a grin that said both "You deserve this" and "I dare you to argue", he led the boy back to the garrison leaving Porthos and Athos to clean up the shooting range.

oOo

It was hard to believe that D'Artagnan had only been a cadet with the Musketeers for a few months. The three senior musketeers had, in a sense, adopted D'Artagnan after he helped to rescue Athos from execution.

"It was funny," D'Artagnan thought, "I came here to kill him, and now we're…"

He paused his thoughts there. What were these men to him? What was he to them? The word "brother" popped up, but he quickly tried to squash that thought, fearing that even by thinking it, he might destroy the chance that it might one day come true.

It had started to rain again. The deluge had continued off and on for nearly a week now. The streets of Paris were nearly buckled under the excessive rain water, pools of what could accurately be described as fetid quagmire had begun to form in certain alleyways.

An elbow from Porthos jostled D'Artagnan from his thoughts. Mercifully, Treville had moved that morning's muster into the refectory, however, he was now staring pointedly at the Gascon who felt his cheeks begin to redden instantly.

"Well! Now that D'Artagnan has decided to rejoin us, I'll allow him to investigate the rumours of ruffians a few leagues east of the city. That should take most of the day," he scolded. A few men at the back chuckled lowly at the scolding. D'Artagnan had dropped his head, cheeks certainly burning now. Porthos glanced at Aramis and grinned. Treville noticed.

"You three," he continued, indicating Porthos, Athos and Aramis, "will accompany him. Dismissed!"

Though Treville had regretted singling out the young man who was so eager to find his place among the Musketeers, he had a duty to show the importance of discipline to his men, and by including Les Inseparables in his punishment, Treville hoped that he was showing the rest of the regiment that he didn't play favourites and that no one was exempt from his standards of discipline. If Aramis' slack jaw and the sag in Porthos' shoulders were any indication, the message had been received. The only man to not react was Athos – stoic as ever – though if Treville were honest, he could have sworn that his Lieutenant's eyes had flashed with annoyance for just a moment.

Treville grinned slightly as he turned to head back to his office. It might actually be a good idea to literally throw some water on these men, he thought.

"Sorry," muttered D'Artagnan meekly as the other musketeers retreated to their rooms leaving the four soon-to-be-soggy soldiers huddled in the refectory.

"I'll prepare the horses," said Athos brusquely, heading for the door.

Porthos sighed and glanced out the window. "It's rainin' cats n' dogs," he grumbled, his mood now reflecting the weather outside.

"It's alright mon ami, we've all been there," said Aramis putting his hand on the dejected D'Artagnan's shoulder. "Who hasn't been lost thinking about a beautiful woman? Who was it? Madame Bonacieux? Or someone else perhaps?" Aramis teased, grin affixed and eyebrow raised. If possible, D'Artagnan blushed even darker and headed out into the rain after Athos.

Porthos grinned. "Thanks. I feel better already."

Aramis grinned back. "Come now Porthos. He's still young. Soon he's not going to let us tease him. What better way to pass a rainy day?"

"I'd prefer to be inside, warm and dry…preferably with a glass of wine and at a card table," he rumbled with a grin.

"Ideally at the Gilded Leaf, where the beautiful Francine works…" Aramis crooned and led his friend out the door, laughing, and into the rain to meet the others.

oOo